


Phoebe Met a Girl (a Vulcan Girl)

by VariaHeimt



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Add more later as necessary, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Maybe SUPER background Spirk or something just mentioned idk, Original Characters - Freeform, Slow Burn, lord help me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-05-18 16:02:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14855829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VariaHeimt/pseuds/VariaHeimt
Summary: This is the story of Phoebe Klausen, an aspiring Starfleet cadet training to go into communications, and her mission to go five minutes without falling head-over-heels for command-bound T'Kirsch, a beautiful Vulcan girl and fellow student.Watch as they study, graduate from Academy, get their first ship assignments, and become yet another pair of useless gays traversing space!





	1. PILOT

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just giving this whole "fan fiction" thing (I heard it's popular with the kids these days) a shot and felt more comfortable with OCs set in a pre-existing universe than anything else. So: here's this. If I get really into it or a couple of people like it, I might write more. Enjoy!

“Portia, I met a girl!” She threw up her hands and fell back into her bunk. “We met in the bathroom during Anthro, and she—she just _swept_ me off my feet.”

Her roommate, who was hunched over two notebooks and a textbook scrawling notes into one and copying them into the other, sighed and turned to her. “Oh yeah,” she said. “That sounds likely. Tell me more about bathroom girl. What was so romantic?”

Phoebe rolled over on her belly, her feet swinging through the air and her chin resting in her hands. “I left my textbook at home and she had a spare copy of her notes. Portia, she’s so smart, so prepared, so mature, so—”

“—classy, beautiful, easy-going. Unless you have a new adjective, kiddo, I’m going to have to hit you with a “you’ll meet another one on Monday.””

She sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed in one great motion. Then she said, one hand over her chest, “No, no, Portia, this one’s _different._ ”

Portia mouthed the words along, a grin on her face. “Okay,” she crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. “Humor me. How’s this one different?”

“I have _no_ chance with her. Her hair was in this perfect bun and her handwriting looks like she typed something up and printed it and when she talks she does this thing where she sort of—” Phoebe tilted her head like a puppy. “And and she doesn’t talk with her hands and she doesn’t exactly emote much but she’s so expressive and clear and she doesn’t even have to try and her eye-shadow. Is. Killer. I would kill a man to look that good in blue.”

She leaned into the headboard, then jumped up the moment she thought of something else. “And she has this pin with the little Vulcan writing on it. You know, with all the dots and—”

“Well is she Vulcan?” Portia said.

“Of course she is.” Phoebe whined. The student fell into the bedspread once more and turned over on her side, groaning. “You really think I’ll meet somebody just like her next week?”

Portia rolled her eyes. “I guarantee it. And if you don’t,” she got up and sat back down next to her friend. “We graduate in two months.” Phoebe let out a pained sigh. “Hey, there’s about twenty-thousand fish in the sea. Starfleet Academy’s a big place.” she shook Phoebe’s shoulder.

Rather than respond, Phoebe bolted upright, eyes fixed on her comm. Without warning, she jumped up, grabbed a jacket hanging by the door, and yelled over her shoulder. “I’ll be back for midnight dinner!”

“Phoebe—dammit—you forgot your comm. Where are you going?” Portia called.

Phoebe turned back, grabbed her comm, and yelled, “T’Kirsch texted back!” She then high-fived Portia at a truly violent speed and was off again.

Left behind with an abandoned room and a spinning head, Portia rubbed her temples with one hand. “She’s gonna kill me one day.” Across the room, a bright red notification popped up on her padd. “Dammit, why can’t it be today?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this about a month ago at work, then immediately forgot about it. I finally got around to editing it, and here we are now!   
> If you're enjoying this (albeit infrequently and irregularly posted) fic, leave a kudo and a comment below. Thanks!

A stack of padds and paper books in her arms, Phoebe sunk into her seat beside T’Kirsch. Both had arrived earlier than much of their class, but many of them were on Phoebe’s heels, filling in the empty seats in the next few minutes. While most who had already arrived chatted with nearby friends and acquaintances, a few—like T’Kirsch—were hard at work on one project or another.

 

Scattered across T’Kirsch’s half of their shared table were tablet pens of varying color and other padds open to reference pages and various excerpts from texts in both Terran and Vulcan.

 

Phoebe had never seen someone wear such a neutral expression as they scribbled as madly as T’Kirsch did as she approached. The moment she sat down, T’Kirsch’s attention turned to her, though she continued writing for another few moments.

 

“Getting ahead of the curve?” said Phoebe, leaning over to see her work.

 

T’Kirsch paused, the cogs in her brain turning over an appropriate response. Her pen turned over in her fingers. It stopped when she said, “Official applications for starship placements are due this afternoon at fourteen-hundred.”

 

Phoebe’s eyebrows raised. “Why did you wait so long to apply? Aren’t you in command track?”

 

“The—I had other promising career prospects I was considering before this point.” She said. 

 

Their professor entered, marking five minutes before the start of class. Phoebe glanced up but turned back to T’Kirsch at once. “What happened?”

 

“They were,” she paused and swallowed a lump in her throat. “Unsatisfactory.”

 

“You’ll have to tell me more about that.” She said. Phoebe pushed away a few of the pens, lining them up near T’Kirsch, careful not to interrupt her feverish work. “Someone told me they’ll hand out assignments _next week_. Isn’t that great? Hey—” she inwardly cringed as she reached out to lightly pat T’Kirsch’s arm. “—maybe we’ll get assigned to the same ship.”

 

The Vulcan tilted her head to one side, nodding in agreement. “That would most opportune.” She added, “Cadet Klau—”

 

Phoebe raised an eyebrow and moved to be caught in T’Kirsch’s side-glance. 

 

No matter her preference for formality—she reminded herself of that now—the Vulcan felt a spark of familiarity at the gesture. Then, an idea. “This is a _professional_ setting, Cadet Klausen.”

 

“It’s an academic setting, Cadet T’Kirsch.” She mimicked T’Kirsch’s tone, a broad grin on her face. 

 

T’Kirsch allowed one corner of her mouth to creep up. Then the other, in a sort of Vulcan not-smile. 

 

“Could I ask you a question?” Phoebe said. T’Kirsch nodded. “Why command?”

 

“Why did you choose communications?” 

 

Phoebe responded without hesitation, rolling the reasons off her tongue one after another “I’m good with languages, and I loved going on missions with my mom as a kid, and there’s not as much pressure as command, but I’m not stuck in a lab either.”

 

T’Kirsch nodded, having forgotten her submission form, instead watching Phoebe while she spoke. “Logical,” she said. “As for my choice in command—” she stopped short, her mouth hanging open with her gaze locked with Phoebe’s. She turned away and returned to her form. “I believe class is about to begin.”

 

Phoebe swatted at the air and jabbed a finger in her direction to hide her disappointment, though it still showed on her face as her smile faded. “I’ll get it out of you one day if it’s the death of me!” She declared.

 

Stealing a glance at T’Kirsch out of the corner of her eye, she settled back into her seat and leaned her check into one hand. 

  
  
  


Even this, a class they both enjoyed on group interactions in ancient cultures, drug on. It was on a topic they’d discussed several thousand times across their courses—feudal Terran Europe and its squabbles—and not even the most studious attendants could keep their attention solely on the material at hand.

 

Masquerading it as following alone in the textbook, Phoebe read this week’s romance novel. Beside her T’Kirsch had finished her application and moved on to writing notes for a different class, glancing up now and then. Behind them someone was folding origami stars, their tablemate folding malformed cranes.

 

Half an hour into the lecture, T’Kirsch leaned over and said, “When I was a child I dreamed of being a starship captain.”

 

Phoebe looked up. “I thought Vulcans don’t dream.” She smiled.

 

“Vulcans do not _lie_.” T’Kirsch shrugged it off. “I grew up hearing about Captain Georgiou and Vice Admiral Janeway. It sounded noble.” She added, “Truly, I was surprised to learn that more Vulcans don’t desire captainships.”

 

Phoebe’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Why’s that? It’s dangerous and the best captains rely on intuition and all that.”

 

“It’s also a position requiring one to put the needs of others first, to maintain an even head no matter the tragedy. A Vulcan would be well-suited for the position, should they choose to pursue it.”

 

Phoebe hummed. Smiling, she said, “Which would be why you’re on the command track? I could see—”

 

“No,” T’Kirsch interjected. She shot an apologetic look Phoebe’s way. “I am not suited for it. My interest in command was purely for the skills—my family runs transport fleets of ships between planets—it was the best-suited field to my needs.”

 

The human watched her a moment, calculating her response. “I’m glad you’re applying for a position on a starship anyway.” She added, “It’s never a bad thing to keep options open. It’s, ah—logical.”

 

T’Kirsch’s mouth hung open. “Yes.” She managed.

 

“We can talk later if you want. So you don’t miss the lecture.” She gestured to the professor neither of them was paying attention.

 

“I can sufficiently multitask.” T’Kirsch lied as she scribbled a random sentence or two into her padd as “proof”. “I do not see you often, and I would like to pursue a closer relationship with another cadet. For practice.”

 

“For practice. Cap— _commanding_. Of course.” she grinned and pushed some of her hair behind one ear. “You want to hear about why I’m going into communications?” She straightened and faked a poor professional expression. “It’s cheesy, I promise.”

 

“Of course.”

 

She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “When I was a kid I had friends everywhere—I lived on my mom’s ship for a while, the Ingenuity—I lost my mind when I learned I could do that kind of thing for my job when I grew up. Obviously it isn’t just like that, but I’ve always enjoyed languages and you know,” she shrugged. “I wouldn’t call myself bad with people.”

 

“Nor would I. It suits you, I think,” T’Kirsch said. “If you don’t mind my asking, why were you on the _Ingenuity_?”

 

Phoebe shrugged. “My dad got sick. Well, he had some brain damage on a mission, and it took some time for—my mom just needed us kids for a while. It happens that way, sometimes.”

 

“Might I make a request?” T’Kirsch raised a hand at shoulder level. “That we do not talk about family.”

 

She hesitated. “Oh. Oh, yeah, of course.” She turned back to face the front of the room.

 

Silence fell over their conversation, and T’Kirsch’s fingers drummed the back of her padd. “However, if you would like to at another time I would be amenable to a meeting outside of class.”

 

Phoebe smiled. “I would like that.”


	3. Chapter 3

Phoebe sat cross-legged on someone’s shag rug, a stranger’s palm in her lap. She traced one line. “This, my pal,” she slurred. “Is your lifeline. It’s one of those ones that goes whoooop all the way up here.”

“What’s that mean?” The young man said. 

“You’re going to have an exciting life.”

He considered that for a moment, then perked up. “Cool.” He shook her hand, jumped up, and walked away.

Phoebe caught sight of T’Kirsch, who had taken up a seat near an empty bookshelf, and yelled with her hands cupped around her mouth, “You should let me read your palm! T’Kirsch!”

T’Kirsch turned a darker shade of green. “I do not think that would be appropriate.”

Something about Vulcans and hands stirred in the back of her mind. “What, don’t Vulcans have the—” she held up her own hand and traced the lines. 

T’Kirsch shifted, growing uncomfortably warm. “Yes.”

Phoebe paused, her gaze left on T’Kirsch as she tried to extract the information that was just right there. What was the thing with Vulcans and hands? Meanwhile, T’Kirsch squirmed in her chair.

“On second thought, I might agree to a palm reading. You appear skilled, though I do not know what basis the creases of my hands have to do with my life overall.”

Phoebe smiled and scooted forward. She patted the space in front of her and waved an obedient T’Kirsch over.

T’Kirsch—who had been coaxed into wearing a modest dress, but a dress all the same—sat with her weight on one hip, propped up by her free hand. Phoebe had the other the moment she was within reaching distance. 

The human cadet looked up. “You’re stiff.” She said, brushing over the vulcan’s hand with a light touch.

T’Kirsch nodded in response, just as stiff as before.

“Your love line—” she traced it across T’Kirsch’s hand.

“Could we skip that one?” She interjected.

Phoebe nodded. “This one—that’s your head line—” she pressed into the spot. “—that’s all about how you think. Stuff like that. Yours is broken here and has all these little tree spots—”

T’Kirsch opened her mouth to question tree spots but clamped it shut at once.

“It means you’ve got intellectual inconsistencies. Or something like that. Your thoughts don’t really make sense with eachother, y’know?” She waved it off, and kept moving. 

Someone ran past them after hurtling over an ottoman, old CD in hand. The music had fallen silent for a moment, and everyone who’d brought something was rushing to play theirs.

“Phoebe.”

She looked up from T’Kirsch’s palm into her wide eyes. Vulcans have sensitive hands. Very sensitive hands. “Are you alright?” She swayed closer. “T’Kirsch?”

She started at Phoebe, her eyes on the curl of her lips, the wave in her hair, the dip between her neck and her shoulder— “I believe I am,” she swallowed. “Experiencing some emotional—” Phoebe pulled away from T’Kirsch’s hand. A second passed and T’Kirsch grabbed hers with both hands. “You may touch my hands.”

“I should go,” She said. T’Kirsch loosened her grip. Phoebe shrugged and laugh half-heartedly. “I’m drunk.” And Vulcans are intense about commitment and I don’t want to mess this up. “I shouldn’t.” She released Phoebe and stood, hands clasped behind her back. “Of course. Would you like my escort?”

Phoebe hesitated. She nodded and held out her elbow.

T’Kirsch threaded her arm through Phoebe’s, they elbowed their way through a small crowd of other cadets, and left.

 

OneTruePheebs: Your hover car...has arrived.

Tassel on the right side, gown fully zipped, and a skirt that ended before the gown’s hem. T’Kirsch was ready.

“What’s wrong?” She mumbled aloud. Her leg bounced as she sat on the loveseat she’d once shared with a roommate. All her things were packed, the boxes stacked against the wall behind her, and any trace at all that she’d lived in that apartment had been packed or scrubbed away, aside from her food and clothes for the next week.

Her padd buzzed a second time. Two minutes had passed already.

“I need to meditate.” She stated, nodding to her reflection in the screen in front of her. “It is an event marking a milestone in my education. To be nervous is illogical.”

The Vulcan heaved a final deep breath and stood, padd in hand.

 

Directory in hand, T’Kirsch wove through the crowd to find Phoebe. Finally, she heard her over a group of rowdy boys and shifted direction accordingly.

She was speaking with a shorter, gray haired woman—her mother, judging by the resemblance—long nose, wild hand gestures, faintly green eyes. At the woman’s side stood a human man easily five or six years Phoebe’s senior—a brother or a cousin.

Phoebe leaned in, though her voice was hardly any lower than normal. “You didn’t bring dad?” she said.

T’Kirsch didn’t catch the mother’s response.

“No, I guess he wouldn’t.” She shook her head. “But while he was here he would have—” she stopped dead in her tracks and gestured to T’Kirsch, waving her over. “Mom, this is my friend, T’Kirsch.”

Her mother brightened in an instant, clapping her hands together. “So you’re the other Vulcan we’ve heard so much about.” She smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“‘Other’ Vulcan?” She turned to Phoebe.

“She’s the friend with the same assignment as me and Portia,” She said, forcefully widening the smile she wore.

Phoebe’s mother raised her hand in the Vulcan salute. “Forgive me—I am Captain Joan P. Klausen of the USS Convenience. Live long and prosper, Ensign T’Kirsch.”

T’Kirsch mirrored her. “I have not yet graduated, Captain Klausen.”

Joan winked. “Close enough.”

 

A full week later—Phoebe in operations red, T’Kirsch in command gold, and Portia in science blues—the three girls stood on an observation deck of their ship: the USS Valiant.

“Gardener has me re-checking everybody else’s work. Where’re you two posted?” Portia against the back wall next to the door panel.

T’Kirsch stood with one hand absentmindedly tapping the rail. “They’ve made me second-in-command on away missions as part of the default team. Alternatively, I am to man the phaser boards when travelling, though I’ve been told the same applies to any away missions including the captain, though these are infrequent, given her age.”

Phoebe stared out at the stars passing them by. 

“Pheebs?” Portia said. “Phoebe.”

“Away team and transcriber. That’s Animagnus 6 just there.” she pointed, a grin on her face.

A soft chime rang once, twice, six times, signalling shift change. “I’ve got beta shift.” Portia turned and the doors slid open. “But you—” she pointed at Phoebe. “—owe me a movie night.”

“Sure.” Phoebe waved without facing her. The door slid shut. She adressed T’Kirsch. “How’re you feeling?”

The vulcan opened her mouth to protest, a Vulcans do not experience emotional responses ready on her lips. “I am experiencing anticipatory stress, I believe,” She looked out the view screen and gripped the railing. “And a degree of situational unfamiliarity. I have travelled through space only a handful of times.”

“Of course.” Phoebe said without a second thought. She shook her head. “I’m so happy to be out here again.”

T’Kirsch leaned into the rail. “I am—it is gratifying to know you find this endeavour enjoyable.” She paused. “I struggle with the fact that I am unable to locate either your planet or my own.”

Phoebe leaned closer to T’Kirsch without turning to her and pointed at one yellow dot among dozens. “There’s Sol. You can’t really see Earth from here, but sometimes the star is all you get.” She laid her hand back on the railing.

“Yes. If we never strayed far enough from a planet, we could not see what the rest have to offer.” She said, sliding her hand an inch closer to Phoebe’s.

“Exactly.” said Phoebe.

Quickly—as if she wouldn’t notice if she were fast enough—T’Kirsch looped her pinky around Phoebe’s.

Phoebe adjusted her hand and smiled at T’Kirsch, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, but T’Kirsch’s gaze was trained on the star-littered sky, eyes shifting every time a new one appeared before them.


End file.
